Hormonal & Homosexual
by cryptocide
Summary: Your name is DIRK STRIDER and your boss wears BOOTY SHORTS. (Formerly the Strider, the Bitch and the English)
1. Be Dirk

You check your right, then left just to be 100% sure not to get hit by a speeding car. You slam your palm on the traffic light button repeatedly so they would go red already and you can sprint across. You're already late for your job interview, and you really could go without a hospital bill for dying. Or do you get a hospital even if you die? Nevermind. All that matters is that you gotta get to the interview. This is a once in a lifetime thing, you think. And it is. It is your profession. Your soul and passion is dedicated to this job, and you can't give it up. Sure, you've been asked once or twice to DJ a club, hell, even your millionaire brother asked you to DJ his club. You did, for the sake of your older brother, and man did you get laid that night. But nothing can surpass a professional job at English Co.

The place is like a fucking skyscraper that tears hole in the atmosphere and has more rooms than seven White Houses. The owner had exclusively asked you, Dirk mother fucking Strider, to be their head DJ. Free drinks from five to twelve for you, what could go wrong? Not to mention English's club was pretty much a mansion with strobe lights. One main room for the party, plenty of extra rooms for privileged men. You're proud to say you've gone to one of their parties. You might have got in a fist fight for your best friend, but it was worth it. Besides, the other guy got kicked out.

The owner said he liked you and wanted to have you again. "My suave is not a match to the haters," you had told him. He replied with a bellowing laugh.

"You're a cheeky fella," he commented in a British-Australian accent. It's true, the owner of the world-famous English club handpicked you, over all of the people that have money and cars and actual houses instead of an apartment block in Houston and a pair of legs to walk on, living off a small budget you get from working at a mechanic's shop.

God damn it, what is taking so long with traffic? Oh yeah, the crossing guard is a total dickwad at this light. You forgot that he almost had you ran over last time you used this route. Fuck this, you're done. You better get home, anyway. No sense on trying for something completely pointless. You turn from the light and start walking back to your apartment. You give up. The end...

Psyche.

You turn straight around and started rocketing toward the moving traffic. No way you're passing this up. Without thinking, sprinted, leaped, and topped a small Jetta, your workboots scraping the paint off the top. Oops.

Once again, you vaulted onto the nearest car, landing on the edge. Your feet almost teetered off and fell in front of a moving pickup, but you luckily caught yourself and moved on. Next was a smaller car and easier to land on due to its flat roof. Then a Suburban, bunny hopping the fuck onto it. Landed, and you jumped off of it onto the grass by the sidewalk. You were home free, and you're pretty sure you dented a car or two. This was hard to do with skinny jeans on, but good news to you, all of your clothes were still intact and not damaged.  
The drivers were cursing threats at you, and you didn't want to get caught up in this mess. Hastily, you ran towards the building you longed for. No time to waste.

You stopped outside of a aforementioned skyscraper, ready to walk in. At this point you don't even CARE what you look like, you're twenty minutes late and it's already getting dark out. Fucking Houston.

You walk inside and notice a lady at a desk who's obviously working there. She looks up and smiles to greet you, then down at her lap. She was either texting or reading a magazine, or both. You must not look that gross if a stranger smiles at you, right?

You walk over to the desk, catching her attention. She looks up and smiles at you again, almost blinding you with the pearls in her mouth.

"Hello, welcome to English Co., what may I help you with?" she asked like she was one of those automated voices on your phone when you call a bank or something. You know, the ones that piss you off?

You lost your train of thought. Her teeth temporarily blinded you. "Yes, I'm looking for Mr. English? I'm Dirk Strider."

"Ooh, Mr. Strider! I've heard good things about you." She set down the magazine she was holding. "Hold on, hun." You winced at her calling you "hun." Jane, as her bronze nametag pin thing stated, dialed a number on her phone desk phone and picked it up to her ear. After a few rings, it answered loudly, "Yes, Jane?"

"I have your "very special guest" waiting for you in the lobby." She looked at you and gave you a thumbs up.

"Golly, what are you waiting for? Bring him in!"

"Sure thing." It seemed all of the people who work here were filled with joy. You fixed your short-sleeve shirt and skin-tight pants the best you could (suits are so last season), along with prepping up your old suitcase but you don't remember what it's filled with. Must have been something you're secretive about, but it makes you look classy as fuck.

"Floor 23, all the way down the hall on the left. Good luck!" You snap from your thoughts and nodded. Even when you're zoned out you can process what people say. Hell, you've lived with your best friend Roxy since you graduated. You learn stuff.

"Thanks," you choke up. You walk towards the elevator, push the button and wait. It comes down pretty fast, only a moment later. You step inside and when the doors close, you feel pressure impact on your skull. It doesn't hurt, it just feels like someone stuck a vibrator in your ear. Good comparison, actually. You arrive at your destination in a matter of seconds. Only the 23rd story?, you think. Mr. English, son of Lord Mr. English, has his office on the 23rd level. Really cliche, once you think about it. You really have no room to talk. You're terrified of heights.

You had just realized that the elevator doors were already open and all of the workers were staring at you in awe. You couldn't tell if it was a "Holy shit Dirk fucking Strider" or a "Who's this douchebag?" kind of stare.

Either way, you have an important date with Mr. English, so you stroll down the hallway while following given directions. You stop in front of a small door. Sure enough, it say in big forest green letters 'ENGLISH'. You knock. Instead of waiting for a response, the door swings open and out comes the head hancho.

"Dirk!" he shrieks, wrapping his arms around you. That hit you like ice water. You can't decide if you should hug back or feel violated. You hug back anyway, he's warm, (the good kind of warm, like cozy), and covered in soft velvet clothes. Why the fuck not?

The workers in the hall seemed even more surprised.

"Good to see ya, Strider! Come in! Come in!" He cleared the entrance and you enter with so much confidence that god damn it he was warm. You kinda of want to say fuck it to the job and steal his... what's this? Lime-coloured trench coat with a red, yellow and green coloured collar, and a stencil of a cartoonish green skull on his shirt. First interpretation: He dresses like pimp Indiana Jones.

English coughs and he sits at his large, large desk. It has like, five file cabinets and enough room for seven computers. Too bad he only has three.

"Good job being fashionably late, and jeez, you look like you just came back from a hangover! What have you been doing?" He wanted to get deep on your personal life. You'll let him in for now.

You just came straight out. "Jumping cars." And it comes out so nonchalantly that you've amazed yourself on the stage of maturity and coolness. English paused, then chuckled. Two goofy buck teeth were showing. You wanted to admit that you thought it was cute because he laughs with a smooth voice, whereas his accent is stronger than a sour energy drink.

"Sounds fun, mind if I try?"

"I was serious."

He piped down but still kept a goofy smile on his face. You were thinking that this guy couldn't be the owner. He's got a deed and probably a birth certificate, but he doesn't seem to be the type to go out in a club and have a couple drinks. He looked like the kind who would stay at home and watch movies with his kids or go have adventures occasionally in the back yard. But not an owner of a club.

"Ugh-" he coughed from his throat. "These bloody things won't stop cocking up!" Next thing you know he pulls up his trenchcoat and sets his leg on a chair only to reveal two pistols on a tighter-than-skin _thigh leg straps_. Oh, and to make it better, he has on khaki booty shorts. Oh jesus christ, you're seeing too much of your future boss. Abort! Abort! Failure to launch!

He pulls both the pistols out simultaneously and twirled them perfectly on his index finger, then set them down on his desk. Impressive, you thought as he _tightened_ the leg straps. But it's obvious he knows a thing or two about handguns. You checked them both. Both of the guns were on safety and not loaded, then you notice a little cartridge of ammo around his waist. Once he's done adjusting the straps, he pulls down his coat but leaves the guns out.  
You think you might have been slightly aroused by that. You're just kind of sitting there in awe, trying to figured out why you are still looking at his legs.

"As I was saying, one of our former workers was made redundant recently,"-meaning they got fired,-"and I knew just the man to call."

Hint hint, you.

"Turns out he was flashing his John Thomas to the female workers, when we strictly don't tolerate inner-staff relationship during work." He's using way too many British slangs right now, you can barely keep up. "And it is in my best interest to provide you with what you need." His face turned completely serious. He keeps his legs crossed, letting you catch another glimpse of his legs. His hands are clasped, index fingers on his lips. It doesn't look like the same Englishman that you were talking to before. He looks mad, like he was about to take one of the guns and put it against your head. You swallowed, but kept a calm and collected look.

"Yes, but Mr. Engli-"

"Jake."

"...Jake, I'm going to need work days scheduled. You see-"

"No need for those. Come when you like, just come often!" He laughed at his own remark. Fun and games again. You'd just wish he'd stop cutting you off.

"English-"

"Jake."

"-Jake. I work another job, you know. And sometimes my friend comes home drunk and that probably means a hardcore feelings jam..." you stop the sentence to wait for Jake to ask what those were, but surprisingly didn't. He just showed off those teeth with a smile and you continued.

"...and sometimes I visit my brother, Dave. You know him?"

Jake nodded. "I knew for a fact there was relation between you and that movie star. Both bleach blonde. Both same suave. Both handsome." He kind of trailed off in that sentence, and you wanted to toot your own horn and say thank you, but decide to pretend to ignore it. After all, it wouldn't be the first time you've been called attractive.

"Yeah. I used to work parties for him. Just work, no pay or anything."

"Golly! Someone's larging it!"

"...Yeah," you repeated yourself. You can't handle memories of your brother right now.

You guess Jake had just noticed you were carrying a suitcase, because he perked up. "Nice suitcase, make you look old-fashioned! Mind if I look inside?"

You shrugged and nodded. You still didn't check to see what you even put in there, but before you could react he was already popping open the case. It ended with a final clack and Jake lifted the lid.

"What's...this?" There were papers he was looking through, when you thought, Oh shit, those are your mom's old documents.

But that wasn't the problem. Jake went all red in the face and was grinning from ear to ear now. "Gee! You didn't say you were such a good artist!" At first, you didn't know what he was talking about, then you remembered what was in there. You hopped up and zoomed beside Jake, looking through the pages with him. No, it was your porn collection.

Your ears went hot and felt your face get warm as well and you hoped that Jake didn't notice for your shades. You were panicking, but he was thrilled to find these old things. To be honest you wanted to take those from him and rip them in his face. Mostly because all of it was _gay _porn, so you guess he has this weird idea in his mind that you're gay. Weirder that he didn't judge you for it. And more importantly, why is he enjoying sketches of guys taking it from behind? Jesus fuck your boss is looking though your porn, how do you even respond to that?

"...Wow," he said. "These are the bee's knees, Strider! Mind if can borrow a few?"

_NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO._

"Sure, I guess."

"Thanks!" He took a couple selected papers and bolted over to his desk, then started digging through his drawers. Once he pulled up from them, there was a box of thumbtacks in his hand. Oh hell no. Hell to the fuck no. Hell to the square root of no. Please don't do what I think you're doing, you thought. Too late. He did. He's tacking them to his board. Your drawings are hanging on the corkboard behind your boss' desk. The day keeps getting better and better.

Jake took a step back to admire what he's just done. It filled up the board to where it went completely blank to covered in shota. He even took the weirdest ones in the weirdest positions. One particularly that has you with no shades 69ing a guy you used to have a crush on.

A lump formed in your throat. The other guy was wearing glasses just like Jake's, and had dark, messy hair, just like Jake's. Your freaking out mode is increasing by the second. You don't know if Jake notices that that's you in one of the pictures, but damn, he looks really happy just to stare at your drawings. Maybe he had a secret thing for porn?

Wait, no, that's dumb to ask. Everyone has a thing for porn.

Jake sighed happily and whirled back around. "So Strider, are you up for the job? Or do we still need to clear some foggy details?"

You want to say you have second thoughts, just to be hard to get, but instead you blurt out, "Yeah." And it wasn't even a formal ironic answer. You're just really, really uncertain about this guy. He was probably the gayest straight guy you've ever met. You know, if he's straight at all. You don't know any heterosexual men who wear short shorts and like looking at gay porn, or hell, hanging it on their wall for god and everybody to see. He has to be at least questioning the male gender, right? Or maybe just really flamboyant. But damn, he does, look good in shorts...

No.

_No._

Fuck no.

You do not think about stuff like that, Dirk Strider.

But you couldn't help it, you really, really, _really_ liked his ass.


	2. Dirk: Mess with Jake

Let's restart. Your name is Dirk Strider and you are sexually attracted to men. You have a problem dealing with it and your boss waving his ass in your face really wasn't helping. You fear you might have gotten a little too _close _to your boss today, and you hope he has mutual feelings about it. You're walking home in the Texas evening heat. There's a lot less traffic, so no need to pull another stunt like that.

You're pretty concerned that cops will be waiting for you at your door when you get back, probably because everyone in this city knows your face and name and can verify your identity a mile away. You're well known in blacksmithing and mechanic industry, and pulls crazy little things like these actually really often. You think you're the baddest ass.

But beside that, as said, you are walking home. It's hot, and you're pretty sure you've had enough excitement for today. What was with him, anyway? He acted friendly like he's known you all his life. That could be just his personality, but showing off his hooker legs and complimenting your porn is a bit too much. You find it creepy just being friends with your boss. Usually you'd see people _hate _their boss, but you?

"Oh no, I draw porn for my boss and stare at his asscheeks because fuck you he's my boss."

That would be a creepy porn fanfiction.

Oh.

Oh no.

You are _not_ getting inspired by this. You haven't drawn pornography in years! Why would want to now? You mean, it used to be a good way to blow off steam, but that was then. Just because you saw a part of some dude that you didn't think you should today have does _not _mean you need to write and direct a god damn movie about it. Or, at least not like your Bro could. He's a pornography genius, or so you think. He writes more fanfics than a regular fandom nerd. Back when you two were around the ages of puberty and drama, he used to write fucked up shit like that, but not anymore. At least, not until he became a big star and moved on. You sometimes wonder if that's why you resulted in not drawing porn anymore and ask yourself,

"What happened to the Strider porn complex?"

Your brother's shadow, that's what. That's your home. You've been living there your entire life, and guess what? It doesn't get any better. He's a chill bro and all, but he's downright snobby and obnoxious when it comes to his fans. Dude, they _adore _you. You should be adoring them back.

You set aside all of the Strider angst for now and focus on your own problems. You need to get home, bathe your greasy body, make dinner and watch Cartoon Network until you pass out. That's what your life is as of right now, and you absolutely love it. You're only 23, so let's face it. You do what you want, when you want. All you need to do is pay bills and have sex, but this, this is the life. You live with your sassy lesbian friend in a 50-story apartment, smack dab in the middle of Houston, Texas, surrounded by big cities and antisocial civillians. If you don't think that's paradise, then you're wrong.

You wind up in your apartment a little later than you'd hoped. Roxy's home and ready for you both to plop your asses on the couch and watch a bad movie. You're putting away your things (mainly your suitcase) and are ready for your gourmet meal, and by gourmet you mean a microwavable cup of ramen noodles with a cup of orange juice.

You filled the cup of noodles with water and put it in the microwave you cook, sliding up on the counter. Roxy walks out of her room while fixing a pair of her earrings, and nearly screamed at the thought of you.

"God damn it, I told you to quit doing that!" You can tell she's half-sober by the way she talks. Her earrings are her fancy cat ones that are made out of pink diamonds and dotted with emeralds for the eyes. Those were her rarely super fancy ones she only wore if she were to go somewhere extremely imprortant. You have no idea how much she cheated and lied to get those suckers.

"Where you going?" you asked.

"GF's takin' me out tonight, then we're going to stop by her place." She did the little eyebrow wiggle thing that makes you laugh. You don't think you've ever met Jane, but her mentioning brought something to your mind that you've been thinking on.

"So how was the interview?"

"Speaking of which, where does Jane work?" you blurt out.

"Hm? Oh, I don't know where Janey works for sure. I know it's this really big place for some weirdo." She fixed her jet black strapless dress and looked back up at you. It was pretty obvious why "Jane" at English Co. was treating you so weird. She knew what you looked like, but you could barely remember anything about her.

"Saw her today. She works at the place I just aced my interveiw at." You smiled because Roxy just called Jake a weirdo, which he was.

"Seriously? That's so cool! You guys could be... work buddies or something!" she exclaimed with her best pterodactyl impression. You chuckled at her enthusiasm.

"Good pick. Tell her I said hi."

"No probs." Her phone came out of her pocket and she checked the time. "Oops, gotta go. See you tomorrow!"

"Tomorrow?" you say with a laugh. She rolled her eyes back at you and headed out the door, grabbing her purse on the way. She made sure not to slam the door because your neighbors are probably asleep by now. He likes sleeping a lot.

The place gets quiet when she leaves, only the air conditioner is making noise, and jesus christ, is that thing loud. No one ever really notices but you, though, and you can't find out why because it shakes the entire floor. It wasn't even worth the fifty bucks you paid for it.

The microwave beeped to signify that it's done with your noodles. You get off the counter and pull them out, blowing on them to cool them off quicker. You really have no idea what you're going to. You're never alone unless Roxy leaves in the middle of the night to go but some 2 AM booze. She has a humble routine that she treats like a religious cult. Roxy without alcohol is like breathing without air. It calms her, but too much is unsettling.

You take your mind off of your life story and head into your room. The doorknob to the door is broken, so you just nudge the door with your foot and it easily swings open. The noodles get placed on your nightstand and you plop yourself on your stone mattress. You sit there for a minute in silence, completely zoning out. It doesn't hurt to shut up for a minute or two and stare at your blank TV. It's actually kind of nice, that is, until the idea of Jake pops into your mind. Your thoughts come back to you and you start stitching ideas of your boss. Well, there's not much to say:

The guy's a complete loon. He's loud and enthusiastic, which is two qualities you lack severely. Jake's nice as a person, and looks like the kind of guy whose personality backfires, like in the animes. You're kind of wishing he was secretly dominant. Likes joking around ever so often, but will hop on his high horse and take matters into his own hands when he needs to. You're hoping he's sexually dominant, too. It's not an inference that you want to bone him, but you're saying that you hope the guy's good in bed. Like, analyze his character. Get to know him better before he even tells you anything. Like, if he's straight or not? _That's _the number one question you need to answer. It bothers you more than anything. You want to get to know him. You don't know why you're just realizing this now, but you are willing to take interest into him. You want to be his you hope to god you're not intimidated by him.

It's four in the afternoon and you arrive at the English Co. building. Your starting hour is decent, and your ending time is better. The orders were still a little unclear about where you're supposed to go when you get to work. Maybe you'll get an office. Although, for a DJ an office isn't quite fitting. More like a mixing studio.

You walk inside the automatic front doors with a strut you're more than proud of. You see Jane looks at you and wave. She definitely was Roxy's girlfriend because she's wearing the cat blouse she bought her for last Christmas.

"Hey, Dirk! How are you today?" You walk up to her desk and rest your hands on it.

"Good." You chuckle. "I'd ask you about your date last night but Roxy'll tell me it when I get home."

She gigglesnorted. "So you finally got a clue? I've dated your best friend for two years and you can't even remember my face?" Jane feels like she just one-upped you. "Thanks."

"Don't live so damn far away!" You shouted that a little too loud. "Move an hour closer. Then we'll talk." She laughed at you again like you were doing standup and she was the one at the table who took jokes to the next level.

"Fine, fine. You're needed in Mr. English's room," Jane declared. You figured so. You left with a nod and went into the elevator, up to floor 8 and stepped out. There was less people in the hall before, but enough to start whispering to each other again. All you did was smile and nod your head, more seductively for the bystanding women. It went quiet quick, and you made your way to Jake's door with the same prideful stride as before. It's nice to know you can easily make fans and haters.

You try knocking. The door and your knuckle made contact once and it opens to Jake, looking at you. You hope he doesn't hug you, but it's too late. You have fallen victim to his grasp. He snuggles you up in an uncomfortable, strangling hug, and you can't respond to that at all. He let's go calmly, and let's you in without another word.

You help yourself and shuffle inside. It feels warmer than it was yesterday, more humid and dense. The first thing you look for is your drawings. They're still hanging idly on the corkboard by his desk, which makes your face go a little warm. Jake shuffles his way inside and closes the door behind him, making his way over to his desk, sitting quietly. You want to ask what's wrong, you really do, but it would make thing's terribly awkward. You suppose if you put in the formal way possible, it wouldn't be as bad.

"Is there something on your mind that you would like to discuss?" Smooth.

Jake paused and looked at you. "No, just a little tired, that's all." He gives you a reassuring smile and looks down at some papers on his desk. You notice he's wearing knee shorts and a plain white T-shirt, and you start grinning at his legs. You can't resist to look at them, and it eases the tension. At least, for you it does.

You sure a hell didn't want to force a conversation into Jake. He clearly wasn't up for it. It's okay, though. The quiet was nice, and it seemed to help Jake think. He kept letting out occasional sighs and rubbed his eyes sockets with his palm. He didn't look tired. He looked _exhausted_.

"Uh, Jake?" you say, regretting breaking the silence.

His head raises up and looks at you, then stands up. "Oh yeah, sorry, haha." You cock your head to the side and ease a smile, and when he sees you he smiles back. It makes you turn your head away for a dramatic look instead of blushing like an idiot and embarrassing yourself. Your Strider bane is quite amazing, if you do say yourself.

You look back at him and his attention is completely drawn away from you. His eyes are glued on your drawings again. What the hell is so special about those things? They're just two guys buttfucking each other. And not even the hardcore kind of buttfucking. The easy type of sex that you like to do on at the early hours of the morning. How nice it would be to have that again.

"So I take it you are searching for an office, or something of the type?" He asked. Before you can answer he butts in, "I have a rig you can use. Since this is a big music business, we fortunately have a few extra studios." He paused to cough. "However, we have a small amount of space."

You wanted to wonder what kind of businessman he's been turned into, but before the thought could enter your mind, he turned to you and smiled. He fucking _smiled a toothy grin like no other_. It was brief, but there was definitely dimples. Dimples are good. Dimples are _really _good.

"I am so fucking sorry," he apologizes with a laugh, a little less accent-y.

You paused, confused. "For... ?"

He coughs/laughs a little again. "I'm just trying to act mature." Good luck with that. "I mean, more business-like. I try to fit people's work customs. Or, at least the best I can. I kind of threw a spanner in the works, didn't I?"

...what?

"No. I mean, why did you try to act mature?" It was hard to process what was going on right now. You could tell Jake knew that, too.

Jake sat on the couch you were standing next to and patted a spot beside him. You moved over to him and hesitantly sat, but forgave yourself because you swore you just sat on a piece of heaven. It was soft as fuck. Everything about this guy was soft. You were ready for him to lay out a childhood sob story, but all that came out was, "I try to impress my workers. If I want hard-working employees, I must be a hard-working boss. I treat them as my own _children _for god's sake. If they do something wrong, I punish them, and if they do something good, I praise them. I know it sounds like rubbish, but take my word for it."

You're left speechless. You literally have nothing to say right now, so you leave Jake to do that job.

"I can be an ass in some scenarios. I get it. I just have to do my job, y'know? And I want to apologize if I can't hang around you long enough. My pops is an anorak for working hard and doing things right and can really blow his top when a speck of dust is out of place. It's always _work, work, work. _I was sure running a giant business would have its perks, but there's nothing you can do except sit at a desk and answer phonecalls. Let's face it, I'm not cut out for this. My hair's graying by the minute, and I'm only twenty-three! I've been part of this business since seventeen, and between you and me, I'm sick of the snobby popstars and whiny rich kids walking in here like they _own the place_! It would be a good thing if they were actually musically inclined, but most of them aren't, and they don't get told 'no' enough to understand the difference between their standards and _mine_!"

Jake stops. He's panting through his teeth, slouched over in his sitting position, staring holes through the window. You're still frozen at him raising his voice like that, and you're sure that you have a dumb look on your face. It's difficult to hear him spit out something so personal and deep, it's like hearing _yourself_. He hides his face in his hands, rubbing his eyesockets and you know he's about to cry.

His hands consume all of his face and makes his glasses drop to the floor. you have no choice. Your arm cranes out and you place a hand on his shoulder, massaging his shoulder blades. He's really bony in the neck area.

A clear liquid seeps through his fingers and drips on the floor. Your hand stops and you start to panic. You don't want to see people upset. You don't want to see people cry. You don't want to see _Jake _cry.

"Jake..." He sniffles once and you automatically wrap your arms around him. The sound coming from his throat is too much. You wish he'd stop already.

Your nose is deep into his neck to where you're cradling him back and forth in a swaying motion. Oh god you can't handle this. You can't see the tears. No more tears. Please, Jake, stop crying.

"Jake, stop it," You demand as you retract yourself from him. He looks up at you from the corner of his eye. You speak again, "Jake, quit crying. That's not the English I've come to know in the past day and a half. The English _I _know is an extremely cunning and intelligent man who loves a good laugh or too. Sure I've known you a little bit, but I know you aren't the type to just sit here and cry. You're going to do what you want. You're the owner of the building, so god damn it, fuck it up!" You feel great.

Jake's full attention is on you now. It's time to speak up.

"I know how parents are and sometimes they're hard to deal with, but you need to stop living in a shadow, because when you're in the shadow too long, you just become the shadow. It means you're a fucking _shadow_, Jake. Don't be a shadow. Be a real person who has feelings and opinions."

You're pretty sure you sound like those commercials on Disney channel about standing up for yourself. Too bad they have Disney drug abusers you mean stars on it.

He looks happy now, and you're thankful for that. Your next move is still undecided, so before it gets awkward you intertwine yours and his fingers together and squeezes. You're not making any love-y dove-y signs, but you know he's blushing in the worst way possible.

"O...kay," he chokes up. You smile in victory. "You know, you're alright. Thanks."

In reply, you nodded, feeling the blood rush to your face quickly. You were shining through your Strider mask. Time to improvise.

"So, if I'm so 'alright', mind if I take you somewhere?"

"Where?" The grip you hand on his hand tightened even more. You rose to your feet and pulled him up with you in a swift, swaying motion.

"It's a surprise, if you're okay with walking."

He shook his head and shrugged. "Yeah, I'm fine with it!" You took that as a green light to pull him out of his room, to the elevator, and into the lobby.

"Jake's taking the rest of the day off!" you yell at Jane as you drag him outside of the building.

She yells back, "Just bring him back! I don't want his dad to get onto me!" But you don't answer, you're already dragging Jake to your apartment.


	3. Dirk: Hang With Jake

"Golly! Your taste in movies in brilliant!" Jake praised as you beamed with enthusiasm. It was about twelve at night and Roxy should be home super late, which means right about this time. You and Jake were watching your DVD collection that you've been adding to since you were a teenager. Jake was very observant, even though he's seen every movie you own. His joy in watching them with you anyway was so outstanding that it hurt your sides to think someone other than Roxy would want to spend time with you. He's been there for about five hours and you're surprised he hasn't said anything about going back. It was obvious he needed one night off, and so far, it seems like watching movies with someone who works for you was his best option.

The door burst open and in came a girl with a sing-song voice, "Dirk, Dirk, I'm finally back from work! Dirk, Dirk, Dirk, Dirk, Dirk!" Roxy continued repeating your name as a chorus when she walked in, surprised by the stranger in her living room. "Holy shit, there's a guy in our house that I don't know."

"Hey, Rox. This is Mr. English."

She perked up. "Oh! You're the one who pays my girlfriend?" With a strut, she paced over to the man with arm open, hugging him. Her breath smelled of Sangria and Sonic peppermints, and you hoped it didn't bother Jake.

"Your girlfriend? Oh, which one is that?"

Roxy laughed. "My Janey. My pride. My soul. My very purpose of exsistence, oh, I love her so! Jesus fucking christ I'm on a roll." Almost immediately she did a breath check and smelled her flaw too. "Whoops, better go brush. I'll BRB."

Once she left the room to that bathroom, Jake turned to you with a confused look.

"How come I didn't know this?" He didn't seem mad, just plain lost.

"Hey, man, I figured this out this morning." You paused briefly. "Like, I know they've dated for years now, but I didn't know it was her."

He replied with a nod before you started back up again, "Oh yeah, and if it wasn't obvious, she's a little drunk as of right now, so don't mind if she says something... unusual?" He nodded again and peered into the hallway as Roxy appeared again, showing her shiny teeth off and holding a laugh in at the same time.

"Dirk, I need to spoke... shit, I need to *speak with you." With a nod towards the kitchen, you stood and headed her way alongside her. You felt bad leaving Jake by himself, but when Roxy's on the booze, there's really nothing better to do than keep away from her.

Once you entered the kitchen she pulled you behind one of the curtains that seperate it from the living room. You gained suspicious intentions that she was going to tell you some fucked up secret about sex or something. Instead though, she gave you a creepy tell-me-_your _-secret look.

"So, this is the guy?" she pondered. You nod, feeling your ears grow hot. Confession stuff to Roxy was like confronting a god before going to hell. It's either you confess, or shit hits the fan.

"Yeah, it's pretty obvious, isn't it?"

"Obvious!" she yelled, then covered her mouth to whisper. "Dirk, you and him are all _over _each other. You didn't say he had an accent, either." Roxy already knew that, though. "He's super cute, I think you consider hitting that thing tonight."

You nudge her gently and she winces dramatically. "I'm serious!" she exclaimed in a low whisper. "You two are, like, suuuuuper cute together. At least make a move on him tonight."

You coughed. "I already did."

She pushed you and laughed.

"Oh. Em. Gee. What did you do? Tell me! Details!"

"_Shh!_"

"Oh. Ok."

"Well." You swallow a lump in your throat from her sexual comment. "I comforted him, I guess. I held his hand, and side-hugged him."

Roxy choked on nothing. "Dirk!" You cover her mouth to shoosh her. She removes it and speak with a lower tone again. "Sorry, but this is big. Like, _really _big. I can't even deal, I'm telling Dave-"

"NO." You growl much louder than intended. "No, please don't, he's going to make fun of me, and by that I mean call me a faggot like he did when I was in middle school, push me around, and probably leave pointless voicemails on my cell and oh shit oh shit-"

"Shhhhhhh shhh, calm down." Roxy pressed a finger to your lips, trying to calm you about the memories of your Bro. What a stuck-up poser he was. You're disgusted by his _exsistence, _let alone his tolerance of your sexuality. You're so fucking done with him right now.

"Rox, promise me one thing?"

"Mhm."

"Promise you won't tell anyone. _Anyone_. That means no Jane."

"But Dirk!" she squealed.

"No. No Jane. I am trusting my love life in your hands."

She sighed.

"Okay."

"Thanks, Rox. You wanna watch movies with us?"

"Nah, I'm beat. I'm thinkin' 'bout hitting the hay. Tuck me?" Her puppy dog eyes reveal themselves.

"Alright," you give in, sighing. "Jake!" you yell back into the living room.

"Yeah?" he yells back.

"Putting Roxy to sleep, be back in a few," you claim as you bob your head in the entry way. He replied with a nod and a warm smile that almost make you shiver with delight. You turn and push your friend towards her bedroom door, being blinded my the radiance of her bright pink walls. She loved the color and you loved her opinion.

You quietly fold over her blankets, gesturing her to come lay down. She chuckled at your effort.

"What a gentleman _you _are. Try those moves on Jack, and he'll be yours forever."

"..._Jake_, Roxy," you correct her.

"Oh." Her tipsy personality was excusable most of the time. It was really cute, too. Roxy lays down and you pull the covers over her torso. She automatically lays on her side and smiles, then it fades after a moment as she hazily passes out. It makes you wonder how she can easily go to bed without waking memories of the day before. She may not have as much going on in her love life, her happily dating Jane as a underaged alcoholic lesbian. You love her to death, and you don't dare judge her life lessons. But what's eating at you is how it's so _easy. _

You shrug it off, leaning over and planting a kiss on her forhead. "Good night," you mumble with a small grin. You turn, head down until you come face-to-face with Jake, almost falling over on Roxy's bed. Jake jumps in startlement, when you have little to no reaction.

Stepping forward slowly, you hastily move Jake out of the room before he could react and wake her up. You close the door and stand in the kitchen entrance in less than a second.

"Stone the crows, Strider!" he exclaims in a whispering voice. Your finger presses to his lips and you lead him into your room so you don't bother Roxy. Last thing _you _need is for her to wake up and never go back to sleep.

Jake and you both enter your quarters. You try your best at making the least noise possible. After everything has settled down, the bed awaits your ass. It's almost one in the morning, according to your alarm clock, and according to your laziness meter, you're tired as fuck. Jake stands aloof as you head into your closet.

"What do you like to sleep in? Pajamas or boxers?" The question rolls out your mouth, but Jake doesn't seem to know what to say.

"Sleep?" he questions. "You sure you mind if I do?"

"Of course. You're my boss, right?" you remind him. "Pajamas or boxers?"

"I'll wear my boxers, thanks." His words didn't come out rude, more demanding but grateful. You step out of the closet with your favored Muppets pajama pants and a wifebeater, and begin stripping down. Jake didn't mind for it. His shirt was already tossed on the edge of the bed and his short were coming off. It took your best efforts to not stare, but the boxers he wore were to mid-thigh. A glimpse of that fine, fine ass appeared, but it was here to stay. To your surprise, there were no pistols hidded under his bottoms, just legs that were prickly with dark hair.

Your wifebeater and PJs were on in a matter of seconds. Jake was half naked while you were most enjoyable fully clothed. He peered at you, a dumbfouded grin as he yanked off his glasses and folded them nicely on you nightstand. You were still insecure about your eyes, precisely the color of them. Burned orange, glazed with scarlet. They weren't as odd as your brother's, but you are still to meet anyone with auburn eyes like your own. Jake's though. You gazed up and it took you briefly to notice deep forest green eyes. Eyes that color were hard to obtain naturally. It was cliche to say it, but his eyes were really the only thing you could focus on. Mesmerizing, specifically. Your attention broke and you slipped your shades off likewise, nonchalantly slipping under the covers for your full size bed.

It was unsettling to sleep with another man again. Especially one that you may or may not be attracted to. You've slept with your bro countless times as a kid, and a few times with Roxy before she got a bed of her own, but a guy you work for that you've know for 48 hours? If it takes only that amount of time to realize you like someone then you probably have a relationship problem.

But maybe you're being to formal about this. Maybe you should hit on him like a normal guy would. Ease into a relationship. You suggest multiple options until you notice that none of those are the case. Somehow you feel like traditional methods wouldn't work on Jake. He seems foreign. Like you might actually have something serious. Love-y dove-y bullshit on RomComs, stuff like that. Your eyes vert themselve to Jake again. He's folding his clothes and placing them beside the bed, and as soon as he looks at you he flinches.

"Wha-" he coughs. "Strider-"

"I know." He's talking about your eyes. It's obvious.

"Your eyes. They're... orange?" You nod your head and look down. The bed leans slightly as he gets into the womb of blankets and pillows. It's natural for people to overreact, you tell yourself. You're used to it. It's cool.

"Well, I like them. Rather have that exotic of a color than plain _green_."

You choke. " 'Plain green'? Did you mean _really fucking amazing _green? _I'd much rather have a known eye color_ green?"

"Don't talk to me like I'm a bloke! Your eye color is brilliant. It's a statement!"

"Oh yeah? Show me where the _fuck _I can find someone who has orange eyes. Then we'll talk!"

Jake's face turned peachy color that you thought was from anger. It looked like he was about to burst, and it ended that way.

"You know, you could at least take one compliment! Your art is flawless. Your music is flawless. Your eyes are just flat out _amazing! _Everything about you is perfect! I look at you and I'm damn well chuffed!"

"Jake, I admire you on so many levels, you couldn't even _begin _to comprehend the amount! You're the owner of a world famous music industry that I have been dreaming of working at for a majority of my life. If you ask me, you're the epitome of all things _worth _admiring!"

He snorted, shaking his head with an atrificial smirk plastered on his face.

"I told you. I didn't ask for this job," he said with a groaning mumble. The room fell quiet. You stared at Jake and he stared at his lap. A feeling hit you. It wasn't sadness, but empathy. Not being good enough, you mean. You absolutely hate him yelling at you.

"Jake?" You're close to crying. Two times in the past 24 hours was way too much. "Jake, I'm sorry." You wish he wouldn't leave. You wish he wouldn't get mad at you. You've made the mistake of bringing up his job _twice_ and you are regretting it.

"Strider?"

You refrain from getting upset. "Yeah?"

Something slithered over the mattress and the feel of another hand grasped yours, and you maintain your poker face the best you can.

"Are we... '_friends_'?"

You blink. "Well, yeah." You kid of hoped for a more deep or even sexual request, but this was just fine.

"Then that means you _fancy _me, I suppose?"

You go through your list of known British slang words. "By fancy do you mean 'enjoy you as a friend'?"

Jake's cheeks were fading pale and was biting his bottom lip slightly with his overbite. You knew exactly what was going on.

This little fucker has a crush on you.

"Well, yes and no."

"Jake." You're almost done with this guy.

"...Yes?"

"Can I suck your dick?" It's hard to keep a straight face, but you still ace it.

His face flushed into a deep pink abyss. A laugh bellows out of you. It wouldn't hurt to mess around with him, even though you were almost completely serious. He's not embarrassed enough, but he looks pretty flustered so you stop.

"Wha-" he coughs. "Dirk, I'm-"

"You're what?"

He stops with his eyes wide and mouth ajar. You laugh again. It's cute, getting him all worked up over a joke.

"I-" he stops in mid sentence and starts again, "I guess."

Your laugh stops and you stare back at him. You're freaking out. He serious agreed?

"Jake..." You don't believe he just said yes. "Really?"

Jake nods slowly in confirmation.


	4. Jake: Take His Offer

You're almost terrified at his question. What was your offer to become a couple was his opportunity to hop on your John Thomas. You can feel your ears warming and blood pacing faster.

"What-" you try not to cough. "Dirk, I'm-" It came off as uneasy but this was certainly not an easy situation. You wanted to explain to him that you've only recently realized you're interested in some men and have never been with another man. It's either Dirk has experience or take me is written all over your face. Probably both.

"You're what?" he ponders with a smirk.

You want to say no and go home but you really can't. This _is _actually what you're asking for; a test to see if you're truthfully gay or not. It's worth a shot. It may be a lucky shot but any shot is good right now.

"I..." you pause. "I guess."

After you spoke those words Dirk's jaw drops in his own personal shock.

"Jake?" he remarks in a questionably voice. "Really?"

You nod notoriously, shifting your legs as an unfamiliar feeling aches in between your hips. You're ready. You're ready to have your cock sucked by another guy.

"Alright." Dirk's expression turns to normal (smuggish) as he turns and hops onto you, bed shaking and all. Holy shittier shit, it's hard to tell if he's lighter than air or if he weighs twice as much as you do. It's hard to process anything right now. He planted his ass right on your erection and is purposely teasing you by bouncing on it playfully. You wish he'd stop. You regret saying yes, precisely.

"Mmf," you groan unintentionally, then covered your mouth with you forearm. It's getting hotter in the room, and before you decide to shut your eyes his tank comes off to reveal his solid, built chest. He's not masculine enough to be a professional body builder, but still puts your scrawny ass to _shame_. You grow modest as Dirk's crotch inches closer to your breathing area, obvious erection showing through his PJ bottoms and possible undergarments.

At least his butt's off your waistline now.

It's tempting to beg him to stop, but how the position stands now there's no chance he will.

"Are you in this for the long run, or are you just looking for a fun night?" Dirk interrogated.

"I'm not really... sure what you're... asking?" you stammer as just inches to centimeters away from your face you're watching Dirk's erection grow. You lied to yourself. This was too much. This was _way _too much.

But simultaneously you're filling with the greed of dominance.

"I'm asking do you want to be a thing? Or do you want just a little casual sex?"

"Both."

Dirk snickered. "Is this your first?"

"What?"

"Your first. With another guy."

Oh. You nod and wait for his disappointment to sink in, but instead he just scooted further back onto your hips until he was all the way off of you and the bed. You wish he would make up his mind about what position to use, but of course, you're not the one to tell a guy about his preferred stance, considering your experience record with guys.

"So how long has it been since you decided you want it in the butt?" he chided as his pants came off and were flung across the room.

"Well," you began. "I wasn't all big on being a poofter-"

"Poofter."

"...gay guy, when I actually tried to totty a man into my bed. That guy wasn't really my type, so I decided I wouldn't cop off with him, and I blew him off. Then you came along. You had a spiffy enthusiasm, and when you showed me your drawings, I mindlessly assumed you were into men. So I thought I could get off with you and maybe have a solid relationship-"

You look up at your partner to confirm that he even cares and he's pulling off his boxers. With a lump in your throat, you look up at the ceiling before you could get a glimpse of him and continued rambling about your love life.

"I wasn't so sure if you felt the same, but I guess that whoa _what in god's name are you doing_?!"

The waistline of your boxers slid down your thighs as two hands planted themselves on the frame of your hip bone, thumbs massaging around your shaft. A scratchy moan escaped your throat, causing Dirk looked up from his place on the floor and smirked. Those bright auburn eyes would certainly take a while to get accustomed to.

"Oh, please do continue, I'm listening," he commanded, slithering his tongue from his mouth, sensually taste testing your head.

"Dir-," you grunted and arched your spine at an angle.

He snickered. "Not a bad size, either."

You meant to day thank you, but instead you groaned and grunted as he proceeded giving head. One hand stroked you dry, feeling the difficulty as both of your skin mutually collided with friction, spit soon dripping further down your shaft, resulting him grip and pump thouroughly. Head tilted back and forearms pressed to the bed, you pant and moan, feeling yourself come close to the end. It certainly wouldn't take long at all. Your hips thrust, and Dirk didn't even flinch. He took that as a sign to take more in his mouth and suck harder. Sweat drenched the pillows and perspiration filled the atmosphere. It was hot. _Really _hot.

"D..._Dirk_!" you sob, releasing yourself deep into Dirk's mouth. He kept sucking even though you were done, like he was trying to get to the end of your fill, but you're sure you were done.

Dirk detatched himself, lips white with liquid, and downed the quart of jizz in one swallow. That's probably the best blowjob you've ever had, you don't even care if it was done by another man. It was _nice_.

"Hey," Dirk divulged to get your attention and swallowed again. "I said you could continue your story."

"Shut your bloody mouth."

"Ooh, feisty. Where was that aggression earlier?"

"I'm serious, you have some of my white shit in your teeth."

He smirked and licked his teeth clean. "Better?"

You laughed. "No, not really."

He stood and brushed himself off, you only briefly noticing his fully bare hips and bell end. It was a glance brief enough to make the tip of your ears light on fire. You saw him smirk from the corner of your eye, which deepens the color severely.

"Are you going to make me do all the work, or will I get a turn?"

You shake your head, sadly turning him down. "We should both head off to sleep. Besides, I'm not really sure I'd be as good as you were."

"Damn it, Jake, way to blow me off," Dirk jested.

"Yeah, yeah, Strider." You pull yourself to turn slightly and threw the blankets over your exposed body, waiting for Dirk's return. He slid under the cloth, face-to-face with you. Mutual smiles grew, and he planted a kiss on your lips, a lot softer tha what you'd expect from him.

"Thanks," you said gratefully.

"Anytime," Dirk returned.


End file.
